Part 46 (2/2)

_”I would give half my life for this--to sing with Alvary.”_

Then as he looked at her she stirred restlessly, and their eyes met. It was a blank look, such as two strangers might have interchanged, but suddenly he remembered the night they came together and sat in the fifth gallery. A dozen details of that evening flickered in his memory and reddened into life. He remembered the splendors of her eyes, the thrill in her voice, the nervous tremor of her hands. He remembered the violets in her bonnet, created from nothing after a chapter of Mill--and the worn gloves with the stains inside, which benzine had not taken away. He remembered her faintness when the opera was over, and the grocery-shop across from The Gotham, where they had bought ale and crackers. He saw her figure as she sat on the hearth-rug in her white gown, her hair hanging loose about her shoulders, her eyes drowsy with sleep. He saw her hands--bare then of jewels--as she unfastened the parcels, and heard her laugh as he drew the cork and the ale spilled upon the crackers.

Good G.o.d! He had forgotten these things eight years ago.

Again he looked across at her and their eyes met. He turned to the stage and listened to the faltering of love as it struggled with doubt. The music had changed. It had deepened in color and a new note had throbbed into it--a note of flesh that weighed upon spirit--of disbelief that shadowed faith. The ideal was singing the old lesson of the real found wanting--of pa.s.sion tarnished by the touch of clay. The ecstasy had fled. Love was not satisfied with itself. It craved knowledge, and the vision beautiful was fading before the eyes of earth. It was the song of the eternal vanquishment of love by distrust, of the eternal failure of faith.

When the curtain fell Ryder came into the box. He was looking depressed, and lines of irritation had gathered about his mouth. He pulled his fair mustache nervously. His wife rose and looked at him with a frank smile in her eyes.

”I have been watching Mrs. Gore,” she said, ”and she is very lovely.

Will you take me to her box for a moment?”

Nevins looked up with quick grat.i.tude, and Ryder grew radiant. He smiled on his wife in affectionate admiration.

”Of course I will,” he answered, and as they left the box he added: ”You are magnificent. There is not a woman in town with your neck and arms.”

She smiled faintly, unmoved by his words. She had learned long since that he still admired though he no longer desired her--and desire was the loadstar of his life.

Father Algarcife, looking at the box across from him, saw Mariana start suddenly and rise with an impulsive welcome as Mrs. Ryder entered. He could see the light on her face, and the frank pleasure of her greeting.

Then, as the two women stood together, he saw Ryder glance from one to the other with his pleasant smile and turn to speak to Miss Ramsey. He heard Nevins breathing behind him, and he was conscious of a strange feeling of irritation against him. Why should he, who was at enmity with no man, cherish that curious dislike for one who was his friend?

”Mrs. Ryder is a creature to be adored,” said Nevins to Miss Darcy. ”She is Isis incarnate.”

Miss Darcy responded with her flas.h.i.+ng smile. ”And Mrs. Gore's divinity?”

Nevins gave an embarra.s.sed laugh.

”Oh, I am not sure that she is a G.o.ddess at all,” he answered. ”She is merely a woman.”

CHAPTER VIII

As Mariana entered her house after the opera was over she unwound the lace scarf from her head, letting it trail like a silvery serpent on the floor behind her. Then she unfastened her long cloak, and threw it on a chair in the drawing-room.

”The fire is out,” she said, looking at the ashes in the grate, ”and I am cold--cold.”

”Shall I start it?” asked Miss Ramsey, a little timidly, as she tugged awkwardly at her gloves, embarra.s.sed by their length.

Mariana laughed absently.

”Start it? Why should you?” she questioned. ”There are servants--or there ought to be--but no, I'll go up-stairs.”

She went into the hall, and Miss Ramsey followed her. On the second landing they entered a large room, the floor of which was spread with white fur rugs, warmed by the reddish lights and shadows from an open fire.

Mariana crossed to the fire, and, drawing off her gloves, held her hands to the flames. There was a strained look in her eyes, as if she had not awaked to her surroundings.

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